Look how the floor of heavenIs thick inlaid with patines of bright gold.Theres not the smallest orb which thou beholdst,But in his motion like an angel sings,Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins.Such harmony is in immortal souls;But whilst this muddy vesture of decayDoth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.Shakespeare.Merchant of Venice, Act V. Scene 1. (Lorenzo, alone.)

Give me my Romeo: and, when he shall die,Take him and cut him out in little stars,And he will make the face of heaven so fineThat all the world will be in love with night,And pay no worship to the garish sun.Shakespeare.Romeo and Juliet, Act III. Scene 2. (Juliet alone.)

You meaner beauties of the night, That poorly satisfie our eiesMore by your number than your light; You common people of the skies, What are you when the moon shall rise? Sir Henry Wotton.You meaner Beauties, 2 Percy Rel. 334.